REV.  DR.  COE’S 


SERMON  AT  THE  FIFTY-FOURTH  ANNIVERSARY 


OF  THE 


AMERICAN  SEAMEN’S  FRIEND  SOCIETY. 


V 


I 


THE  GOSPEL  AND  THE  SAILOR: 


A DISCOURSE  BEFORE 


THE  AMERICAN  SEAMEN'S  FRIEND 

SOCIETY, 

AT  ITS 

FIFTY-FOURTH  ANNIVERSARY, 


SABBATH  EVENING,  MAY  'JTH, 

Ol 

oo 

oo 

BY 

Rev.  EDWARD  B.  COE,  D.  D., 

IN  THE  COLLEGIATE  REFORMED  DUTCH  CHURCH,  FIFTH  AVENUE  AND  48TH  STREET, 

NEW  YORK  CITY. 


FROM  THE  ROOMS  OF  THE  SOCIETY, 

80  WALL  STREET,  NEW  YORK, 

1882. 


SERMON. 


1 Kings  xviii : Itf. — “And  (he)  said  to  his  servant,  ‘Go  up  now,  look  toward  the 
sea.’  ” 

It  was  in  expectation  of  a blessing  to  be  received  that  this  command 
was  spoken  by  the  prophet  to  his  servant.  For  three  years  and  a half 
no  rain  had  fallen  within  the  dominions  of  that  weak  and  wicked  king 
who  “did  more  to  provoke  the  Lord  God  of  Israel  to  anger  than  all 
the  kings  of  Israel  that  were  before  him,”  and  “the  famine  was  sore 
in  Samaria.”  But  the  idolatrous  worship  which  had  been  established 
on  a scale  hitherto  unexampled,  by  the  proud  and  fierce  Phoenician 
princess  whom  Ahab  had  raised  to  the  throne,  had  received  at  least  a 
momentary  check  when  Elijah  summoned  the  four  hundred  and  fifty 
prophets  of  Baal  and  the  four  hundred  prophets  of  Astarte  to  a solemn 
test  of  their  power  in  the  sight  of  all  Israel  on  the  slopes  of  Mount 
Carmel.  The  result  of  that  contest  had  been  the  complete  discom- 
fiture of  the  ministers  of  Jezebel;  the  people  had  risen  against  them 
and  slaughtered  them  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain;  the  king  was  terri- 
fied into  submission.  It  was  time  that  the  plague  of  drought  and 
famine  should  be  stayed.  The  prophet  of  Jehovah,  whose  ear  detected 
at  last  the  “sound  of  abundance  of  rain,”  retired  to  the  higher  soli- 
tudes, where  he  had  so  long  dwelt,  and  while  he  bowed  himself  in  an 
unusual  attitude  of  importunate  prayer,  he  sent  his  «ervant  to  a still 
loftier  eminence  with  the  command  “Go  up,  look  toward  the  sea.” 
He  went,  and  saw  only  the  burnished  surface  of  the  Mediterranean, 
overarched  by  a cloudless  sky,  in  which  the  sun  was  slowly  sinking,  a 
merciless  orb  of  fire,  toward  the  west.  Again  and  again  he  obeyed  the 


4 — 


prophet’s  word  and  still  on  all  the  wide  horizon  his  eye  discerned  no 
token  of  the  long-desired  storm.  But  “it  came  to  pass  at  the  seventh 
time,  that  he  said,  ‘ Behold,  there  ariseth  a little  cloud  out  of  the  sea, 
like  a man’s  hand.’”  It  was  the  answer  to  Elijah’s  prayer;  it  was  the 
harbinger  of  the  long-sought  blessing.  And  while  the  king’s  chariot 
flew  toward  Jezreel,  the  heavens  above  grew  black  with  clouds,  the 
forests  of  Carmel  shook  in  the  sound  of  the  advancing  tempest,  and 
there  was  a great  rain. 

Not  so  much  in  the  hope  of  discovering  there  the  sign  of  a blessing 
to  be  received,  as  for  the  purpose  of  finding  there  a work  to  be  done,  is 
the  church  of  God  called  in  our  day,  by  His  providence  and  by  His 
Spirit,  to  “ look  toward  the  sea.”  Not  with  the  eye  of  the  geographer, 
who  seeks  to  trace  the  course  of  its  currents  and  the  laws  of  its  tides; 
who  observes  its  power  to  modify  the  climates  of  the  globe  and  to  ex- 
hale from  its  heaving  surface  the  vapors,  which,  descending  again, 
gladden  the  earth  with  showers  and  streams;  not  with  the  eye  of  the 
explorer,  who  endures  its  hardships  and  braves  its  perils  that  he  may 
plant  his  foot  on  some  untrodden  shore  or  unveil  the  icebound  secrets 
of  the  poles;  not  with  the  eye  of  one  who  longs  for  a larger  liberty  of 
thought  or  life  and  who  looks  out  with  eager  gaze  upon  the  sea, 
toward  lands  which  offer  to  every  comer  an  equal  chance  and  a wide 
career;  not  thus,  nor  vet  solely  with  the  eye  of  one  who  sees  in  the 
ocean  a stupendous  display  of  the  power  and  majesty  of  Him,  who 
holds  its  waters  as  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand,  and  who  rouses  them  as 
He  listeth  or  saith,  “ Peace,  be  still  ” ; but  with  the  earnest  and  rever- 
ent regard  of  those  who  desire  the  fulfillment  of  the  prophecy  that  the 
abundance  of  the  sea,  as  well  as  of  the  land,  shall  be  converted  unto 
Him  who  is  Head  over  all  things, — so  the  church  may  well  direct  its 
thought  to  that  vast  domain,  which  affords  an  inspiring  field  for 
Christian  labor  and  from  which  only  the  first  fruits  of  the  harvest 
have  yet  been  gathered  in. 

As  we  stand  then,  to-night,  looking  forth  upon  the  ocean,  what  do 
we  behold? 

At  first  sight  only  a barren  waste  of  waiters,  surrounding  the  con- 
tinents and  covering  three-fifths  of  the  surface  of  the  globe.  It  is  a 
pathless  and  desolate  expanse,  which  seems  designed  to  check  the  in- 
tercourse and  to  defy  the  authority  of  men.  No  cities  are  built  on  its 
heaving  and  treacherous  breast;  and  the  bustle  of  human  life,  the  roar 
of  human  activity,  ceases  at  its  edge.  The  realms  of  space  above  our 
heads  are  hardly  more  appalling  in  their  silence  and  their  solitude, 
than  the  boundless  ocean-plains,  where  no  living  thing  appears,  to 
break  the  oppressive  stillness  with  its  movement  or  its  cry,  and  only 


wave  chases  wave  from  end  to  end  of  the  horizon.  No  harrier  of 
mountains,  lifting  their  snowy  summits  to  the  clouds,  would  seem  to  ar- 
rest the  progress  and  mock  the  power  of  mankind,  like  this  great  wall 
of  water  which  the  almighty  hand  has  reared  around  the  nations. 

But  man  has  conquered  the  sea,  and  if  you  observe  it  again,  you 
will  perceive  that  it  is  not  a barrier  to  keep  nations  apart,  but  a bond 
to  bring  them  near  and  to  unite  them  together.  The  trackless  ex- 
panse, at  which  we  were  just  now  looking,  is  furrowed  by  a million 
keels.  The  cunning  of  the  human  mind  has  traced  upon  it  a network 
of  paths,  along  which  the  commerce  of  the  world  swiftly  and  safely 
moves.  Its  dreary  solitudes  are  bright  with  sails,  and  the  music  of 
human  voices  has  broken  the  spell  of  silence  which  had  settled  upon 
it:  science  and  daring  have  robbed  it  of  its  terrors  and  have  brought 
it  into  subjection  to  the  human  will.  It  has  become  a great  and  free 
highway,  over  which  thought  and  wealth  may  pass  from  land  to  land. 
It  has  made  all  the  nations  neighbors  and  widely  sundered  peoples 
familiar  friends.  To  traverse  it  is  no  longer  a matter  of  desperate 
adventure,  it  is  an  incident  of  a holiday.  It  has  been  explored,  mapped 
out,  subdued,  and  the  voyage  across  it,  which  was  once  involved  in 
hardly  less  uncertainty  and  peril  than  that  in  which  a soul  sets  forth 
upon  the  unknown  ocean  of  another  life,  is  now  an  experience  of  which 
almost  every  detail  may  be  anticipated  and  of  which  the  end  may  be 
predicted  to  an  hour.  When  forty-six  years  ago  the  French  astrono- 
mer sent  word  to  all  the  observatories  of  Europe  that  on  such  a night, 
at  such  a point  in  the  heavens,  a new  planet  might  be  seen,  it  was 
rightly  held  to  be  a marvelous  example  of  the  power  of  the  human 
mind.  But  it  is  a hardly  less  signal  display  of  man’s  mastery  over 
nature,  when,  after  pushing  steadily  forward  for  many  days,  through 
sunshine  and  storm,  through  mist  and  darkness,  on  the  North- Atlantic, 
the  captain  of  the  vessel  in  which  you  are  sailing  says  quietly  to  you: — 
“At  nine  o'clock  this  evening,  in  that  direction,  you  will  see  the  light 
on  Fastnet  Rock.”  The  ocean  has  been  tamed  and  civilized  and  made 
a part  of  the  habitable  globe. 

And  so  you  will  observe,  in  the  third  place,  if  you  look  toward  it, 
probably  three  millions  of  men  who  have  their  home  ujion  it. 
Three  millions  of  men, — it  is  the  population  of  a state,  and  they  liter- 
ally live  upon  the  sea.  They  are  strangers  on  the  shore;  their  homes 
are  the  forecastle  and  the  deck.  On  the  land  they  are  idle,  awkward, 
uneasy.  They  are  readily  distinguished  from  other  men  by  their 
peculiarities  of  manner  and  bearing  and  speech.  They  seem  to  be  only 
lookers-on  amid  the  bustle  of  business  life,  in  which  they  do  not  share. 
They  have  no  place  among  the  jostling  crowds  to  whom  the  empire  of 


— 6 — 


the  laud  belongs.  If  there  is  somewhere  on  the  solid  ground  a cottage 
which  they  call  their  own,  and  a loving  group  of  human  hearts,  to 
which  from  afar  their  affections  turn,  it  is  only  at  rare  and  distant 
intexwals  that  the  sxglit  of  these  brings  gladness  to  their  eyes.  The 
home  of  the  sailor  is  the  ship  to  which  he  belongs;  his  element  is  the 
wide,  rolling  sea.  There,  night  and  day,  amidst  hardship  and  peril,  he 
does  his  work  and  lives  his  life.  Privation  is  his  constant  comrade, 
and  he  is  intimate  with  danger.  While  you  and  I are  enjoying  the 
shelter  of  our  comfortable  dwellings  and  quietly  pursuing  our  peaceful 
avocations,  he  is  fighting  the  wintry  blasts  and  wrestling  with  the  sav- 
age waves.  Ill-housed,  ill-fed,  ill-clad, — his  existence  is  a perpetual 
battle  with  the  great  natural  forces  against  which  he  is  disputing  the 
empire  of  the  sea. 

And  yet  it  is  not  some  strange  amphibious  race  which  is  condemned 
by  fate  to  this  stern  mode  of  life.  They  are  our  neighbors  and  our 
brothers.  Almost  every  nationality  is  represented  among  the  seamen 
of  the  globe,  but  the  greater  number  of  those  wTho  have  chosen  the 
ocean  for  their  home,  belong  to  that  hardy  northern  stock,  from  which 
Ave  too  are  sprung.  The  blood  that  is  in  their  veins  is  that  adventur- 
ous blood,  which,  Avhile  the  Homans  were  cautiously  feeling  their  way 
from  headland  to  headland  of  the  Mediterranean  coast,  made  the  Nor- 
man sailors  masters  of  the  Atlantic  from  the  Straits  of  Dover  to  the 
Pillars  of  Hercules.  The  same  strain  of  hardihood  is  in  it  still,  which 
made  the  Scandinavian  prows  the  first  to  touch  the  shores  of  the  New 
World.  The  language  of  the  ocean  is  theTangnage  that  avc  speak  or 
some  other  that  is  closely  allied  to  this.  And  thus  the  Avelfare  of  the 
toilers  of  the  sea  appeals  to  us,  as  it  can  appeal  to  no  other  race  but 
that  to  which  avc  belong. 

It  appeals  to  us  also  as  the  Avelfare  of  a class  of  men  comprising  vari- 
ous degrees  of  intellectual  force  and  culture.  It  is  xvell  for  us  to  free 
our  minds  from  the  false  impression  that  the  sailor  is  taken,  to  begin 
with,  from  the  lowest  stratum  of  society,  and  is  still  further  imbruted 
by  the  life  that  lie  leads.  “You  might  as  well,”  so  it  used  to  be  said, 
“you  might  as  Avell  preach  to  the  mainmast  as  to  him.”  And  the 
common  seaman  is,  indeed,  often,  a man  of  coarse  manners  and  of  rude 
intelligence,  debased  by  heartless  and  cruel  treatment  to  a condition 
which  may  avcII  make  humanity  shudder  and  society  tremble.  Put 
it  is  not  such  men  only,  to  Avdiose  care  the  commerce  of  the  Avorld  is 
entrusted.  And  the  thorough  scientific  knowledge,  the  calm  and 
practised  judgment,  the  ability  to  meet  an  unexpected  and  perilous 
emergency  Avith  skill  as  avcII  as  energy, — in  no  field  Avhatever  of  human 
activity  are  these  qualities  shown,  more  conspicuously  or  more  often. 


than  in  practical  seamanship.  By  the  side  of  the  sailor  who  works 
only  with  his  hands,  we  must  consider  the  sailor  who  works  with  his 

brain. 

But  both  masters  and  men  seldom  fail  to  exhibit  certain  qualities  of 
character  whose  charm  we  instantly  and  universally  recognize.  You 
will  certainly  anticipate  me  in  puttingrowm/c  first  among  these.  There 
is,  of  course,  something  in  the  continual  presence  of  danger,  which 
blunts  the  sensibilities  and  makes  daring  a matter  of  habit  rather  than 
of  principle.  And  yet  no  man  but  one  who  is  constitutionally  bold 
would  expose  himself  thus  to  the  incessant  dangers  of  the  sea.  I said 
the  ocean  had  been  conquered,  and  yet  how  often  it  claims  its  terrible 
revenge  from  those  who  seek  to  assert  their  mastery  over  it.  Take  this 
single  fact  into  consideration,  that  “ the  average  life  of  the  seaman  is 
hut  twenty-eight  years,  his  actual  sea  life  only  eleven,”  and  what  a 
story  it  tells  of  the  perils  to  which  the  sailor  bids  constant  defiance. 
The  records  of  war  are  not  so  full  of  acts  of  calm  and  heroic  daring, 
as  are  those  of  man’s  great  battle  with  the  ocean.  And  they  exhibit 
this  not  only  in  the  form  of  a stolid  indifference  to  danger  in  the  per- 
formance of  duty,  but  in  a self-forgetful  exposure  and  sacrifice  of  life 
in  the  generous  effort  to  save  others  who  are  perishing.  Let  me  tell 
you,  for  example,  the  story  of  Arthur  McKee.  He  was  second  mate  of 
the  bark  Low  Wood,  which,  on  the  20th  of  last  October,  sighted 
another  British  bark  in  distress  in  mid-Atlantic.  In  the  tempest  her 
cargo  had  shifted,  spars  and  sails  were  gone,  she  was  on  her  beam  ends, 
sinking,  and  the  sea  which  was  running  high  made  a clean  breach  over 
her.  All  her  boats  were  stove  in,  and  the  wretched  crew,  huddled  to- 
gether behind  a sail  which,  for  a little,  kept  off  the  wash  of  the  waves, 
were  awaiting  death.  To  the  call  for  men  to  try  and  reach  them  from 
the  Low  Wood,  the  first  mate  with  four  sailors  answered  immediately  in 
their  one  commodious  and  useful  boat.  But  it  swamped  before  the 
eyes  of  both  crews,  and  the  five  men  sank  to  the  fate  from  which  they 
went  to  save  the  others.  For  two  days  and  nights  the  Low  Wood  tried 
to  work  closer  to  the  sinking  vessel,  and  when  at  last  she  was  success- 
ful, the  question  rose,  who,  if  any  one,  would  go  from  her,  in  a small 
boat  fit  only  to  hold  three  men,  in  another  perilous  attempt  at  rescue. 
And  that  is  what, — with  the  memory  of  their  drowned  comrades  freshly 
before  their  minds, — that  is  what  McKee  and  two  seamen  did,  bringing 
the  shipwrecked  crew  in  two  trips,  safely  to  their  own  vessel,  through 
the  boiling  waves.  And  that  instance  of  heroism  is  not  alone, — it  is 
matched,  as  you  know,  by  a thousand  others  in  the  annals  of  the  sea. 

To  courage  and  generosity  must  be  added  simplicity,  also,  as  a char- 
acteristic of  the  sailor.  It  is  in  intercourse  with  men  that  a man  be- 


— 8 — 


comes  cunning  and  treacherous,  not  in  contact  with  nature.  The  sea- 
man is  frank, — almost  childlike  in  his  confidence.  And  here  is  the 
source  of  his  gravest  perils.  They  are  not  on  the  sea;  that  at  most  can 
only  kill  the  body;  they  are  the  temptations  which  destroy  both  body 
and  soul  upon  the  shore.  Think  of  him  as  he  comes  in  from  a long 
voyage,  to  find  himself  the  prey  of  men,  whose  brutal  lusts  are  set  on 
fire  of  hell  and  who  have  reduced  robbery  and  outrage  to  a system. 
Better, — a thousand  times  better, — for  him,  to  fall  into  the  gaping  and 
hungry  waves  than  into  the  welcoming  hands  of  those  who  coin  his 
weaknesses  into  gold,  and  then,  when  they  can  make  no  further  profit 
from  him,  sell  him  like  a slave.  My  Christian  friends,  the  infernal 
traffic  in  the  bodies  and  souls  of  men  is  not  yet  extinct;  it  is  still  going 
on  in  dens  of  infamy,  in  this  and  every  other  city  of  the  world.  And 
that  which  makes  him  the  easy  victim  of  wrongs  at  which  we  justly 
shudder,  is  partly  the  fact  that  law  and  humanity  and  religion  look  on 
with  folded  hands,  while  he  is  fleeced  and  drugged  and  delivered  over 
to  his  fate. 

Do  I say  that  he  is  exposed  to  peculiar  temptations?  The  wonder  is 
rather  that  lie  is  not  more  swiftly  and  more  irretrievably  ruined.  Cut  off 
from  all  the  influences  by  which  human  character  is  refined  and  ele- 
vated, living  a life  of  perpetual  exposure  and  toil,  often  cast  out  and 
betrayed  by  society  itself  which  he  has  enriched  by  his  labors,  what 
more  can  you  expect  of  the  sailor  than  that  he  shall  be  brutal  and 
vicious?  How  can  you  hope  to  recover  and  save  him?  And  yet  there 
is  no  class  of  men  who  respond  more  prdmptly  to  the  efforts  that  are 
made,  in  Christian  love,  to  bring  them  to  a better  and  nobler  life. 
Many  of  them  have  gone  from  Christian  homes,  and  the  seeds  of  truth, 
the  germs  of  good,  which  there  were  planted,  though  long  buried  out 
of  sight,  are  living  still.  The  thought  of  a father’s  faithful  counsel, 
of  a mother’s  tears  and  prayers  and  yearning  love,  is  awakened  again, 
and  under  a sudden  rush  of  deep  and  tender  feeling,  the  hard  heart  is 
melted  as  an  ice-bound  stream  is  loosened  into  life  in  the  warm  breath 
of  the  Easter  sun.  The  voice  of  sympathy,  of  advice,  of  remonstrance, 
of  kind  and  earnest  appeal  has  a strange  power  upon  ears  that  have  been 
long  accustomed  to  the  stern  word  of  command  or  the  false  word  of 
treachery.  Then  the  life  of  a sailor  is  a series  of  crises.  At  one  mo- 
ment he  is  quietly  floating  under  a clear  sky,  over  the  gently  undulating 
waves.  And  again  the  ocean  is  churned  to  foam  and  his  ship  is  plung- 
ing madly  through  the  storm.  And  again  he  is  fiercely  clinging  to 
some  fragment  of  a wreck,  amidst  the  howling  and  hungry  billows,  or 
drifting  alone  toward  madness  and  death,  with  nothing  around  him 
but  the  black  waters  and  nothing  above  him  but  the  cold  stars.  Or 


— 9 — 


again  you  find  him  staggering  back  to  self  consciousness  again,  after  a 
career  of  dissipation,  in  which  he  has  dishonored  his  manhood  and  de- 
stroyed his  self-respect  and  is  afraid  that  he  has  lost  his  soul.  Do  you 
wonder  that  a man  whose  life  is  filled  with  such  tremendous  experi- 
ences as  these,  is  prepared  by  them  to  welcome  the  light  and  strength, 
the  peace  and  pardon  and  purity,  which  only  the  gospel  brings?  Do 
you  wonder  that  he  will  seize  upon  the  hope  set  before  him  in  Christ, 
as  such  a man  once  said,  “ with  a death-grip?”  Do  you  wonder  that 
he  will  sav,  as  another  exclaimed,  when,  the  day  after  his  conversion 
he  was  asked  if  he  should  not  write  to  his  wife  in  England  of  the  new 
life  that  he  had  found, — “ Write  to  her!  why,  bless  you,  no! — a letter 
would  be  far  too  slow  forme, — I’ve  cabled  her  already: — ‘Saved,  Body 
and  Soul!  ’ ” 

But  I must  ask  you  to  consider,  once  more,  not  only  the  accessibility 
of  the  sailor  to  the  influences  which  seek  to  promote  his  welfare,  but 
the  vast  harm  which  he  is  capable  of  doing,  if  neglected.  To  himself, 
first  of  all;  for  of  all  men  that  saying  is  truest  of  him,  that  he  is  his 
own  worst  enemy.  The  very  qualities,  which  attract  us  to  him,  his 
reckless  daring,  his  open  handed  generosity,  his  artless  confidence, — 
these,  with  the  alternations  of  hard  labor  and  idleness,  of  privation  and 
self-indulgence,  of  imminent  peril  and  joyful  escape,  which  compose 
his  brief  but  eventful  life, — they  make  him  peculiarly  defenseless  against 
the  temptations  that  beset  him,  and  if  you  leave  him  to  himself,  you 
leave  him  to  his  ruin.  It  is  sometimes  said  that  the  church  ought  to 
labor  not  for  special  classes  of  men,  but  for  mankind  at  large.  It  is 
true  enough  in  general,  but  here  is  a class  of  men  who  are  set  apart  by 
the  very  conditions  of  their  life,  as  distinctly  as  those  who  inhabit  a 
particular  continent,  or  those  who  use  a particular  language. 
They  must  be  reached  and  saved,  if  they  are  to  be  saved  at  all, 
by  special  efforts  which  are  intelligently  adapted  to  their  special 
needs.  And  so  their  peculiar  isolation  in  the  midst  of  mankind 
and  the  singular  bonds  which  unite  them  to  each  other  give  them  a 
mutual  influence  of  extraordinary  strength.  There  is  probably  no  kind 
of  organization  in  which  the  power  of  one  man  over  others  is  more 
conspicuously  shown,  than  the  compact  and  exclusive  association  of  a 
ship’s  company.  A contagious  fever  has  no  fairer  field  for  its  fatal 
work,  than  that  which  is  bounded  by  the  bulwarks  of  a ship  and  the 
same  is  true  of  the  contagion  of  a bad  man.  It  acts  night  and  day 
corrupting  the  minds,  perverting  the  consciences,  destroying  the  souls, 
of  those  who  cannot  escape  from  it  and  have  little  power  to  resist  it. 

And  such  a vessel  carries  an  infection,  which  is  worse  than  a pesti- 
lence, into  every  port  where  it  touches.  You  send  your  missionaries 


— 10  — 


round  the  globe  to  try  to  convert  the  heathen  to  Christ.  They  take 
the  .Bible  in  their  hands  and  labor  to  lift  benighted  races  to  a purer 
faith  and  a better  life.  And  a drunken  and  licentious  crew  of  sailors 
from  Liverpool  or  from  New  York  will  undo  in  a week  the  work  of 
months.  Those  for  whose  salvation  by  the  truth  of  the  gospel,  you 
have  been  giving  your  wealth  and  offering  your  prayers,  will  say  to  the 
Christian  teachers  whom  you  have  sent  to  them, — “If  this  is  Christianity 
we  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.”  The  labors  of  the  missionaries  of 
the  cross  are  perpetually  baffled  and  foiled  by  the  influence  of  seamen 
whose  lives  are  an  argument  of  incalculable  force  against  the  religion 
of  the  lands  they  represent. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  save  the  sailor,  and  I might  almost  say,  you 
have  saved  the  heathen  world.  You  have  turned  a great  energy  which 
is  otherwise  employed  for  the  diffusion  and  promotion  of  evil,  into  a 
force  for  the  extension  of  the  kingdom  of  God.  You  can  save  the  sail- 
or by  the  help  of  God’s  Spirit,  and  make  his  lips,  which  before  had 
hissed  with  blasphemies,  tuneful  with  words  of  love  and  praise.  You 
can  transform  him  from  a drudge,  a serf,  a creature  but  little  higher 
than  the  brutes,  into  a pure,  devout,  and  prayerful  man.  Y on  can 
bring  into  the  service  of  Christ  and  of  his  gospel  the  courage  and  en- 
ergy which  are  in  him  by  nature,  and  that  lidelity  to  duty  and  that 
habit  of  immediate  obedience,  to  which  the  discipline  of  his  calling  has 
trained  him.  You  can  make  of  him  a missionary  of  the  cross, — to  those, 
in  the  first  place,  with  whom  he  sails.  I confess  that  I am  astonished, 
in  spite  of  all  that  we  might  naturally  expect  from  the  mutual  influ- 
ence of  seamen  on  each  other,  under  the  peculiar  conditions  of  their 
life, — I am  astonished  at  the  records  which  abound  in  the  publications 
of  this  Society,  of  the  work  which,  over  and  over  again,  has  been  ac- 
complished by  one  godly  sailor  among  his  comrades  on  the  sea.  A 
ship  in  mid  ocean  transformed  into  a temple;  words  of  praise  and  prayer 
and  joyful  testimony  of  love  to  Christ  from  lips  which  had  long  been 
familiar  only  with  profane  and  ribald  speech;  tears  of  penitence 
on  faces  where  it  had  seemed  as  if  vice  had  set  its  ineradicable  stamp; 
hymns  instead  of  oaths;  services  of  worship  instead  of  convivial  gath- 
erings; till  it  seemed,  says  a captain,  describing  such  an  event,  “for 
the  past  two  months  it  has  seemed  as  if  God  himself  was  in  the  ship.” 
So  on  board  a United  States  steamship  bound  for  China,  “more than 
three  hundred  assembled,  morning  and  evening,  for  prayers.  Officers  and 
men  were  melted  to  tears  by  a scene  such  as  they  had  never  witnessed 
before.  Sailors  were  preaching  Jesus  and  imploring  their  shipmates 
to  come  to  Him  for  eternal  life.”  That  is  the  result  which  God's  Spirit 
has  many  times  wrought  amidst  the  solitudes  of  the  ocean,  under  no 
other  eye  but  llis. 


— 11  — 


And  the  Christian  activity  of  such  a ship’s  company  is  not  confined 
to  the  decks  where  they  work  and  speak  for  Christ.  rl  heir  arrival  in 
port  only  opens  to  them  new  opportunities  of  doing  good  to  those  with 
whom  they  stand  at  once  on  a common  footing  of  confidence  and  sym- 
pathy. And  many  a soul  that  had  wandered  far  beyond  all  influences 
of  a Christian  civilization  has  come  to  the  knowledge  and  love  of  the 
Savior,  through  the  ministry  of  some  Christian  sailor,  telling  his 
simple  story  and  urging  his  heart-felt  appeal. 

Am  I not  right  then,  my  friends,  in  saying  that  God  is  calling  upon 
us  by  His  word  and  His  providence  and  II is  Spirit,  to  “ look  toward  the 
sea  ” as  a field  where  we  are  to  work  for  Him.  It  is,  in  many  respects, 
a peculiar  field.  It  requires  a special  organization  that  it  may  be 
properly  cultivated.  You  cannot  trust  to  the  churches  established  on 
the  land,  and  hope  that,  when  he  is  in  port^the  sailorwill  find  his  way 
into  them.  You  must  have  your  Sailor’s  Homes  to  shelter  and  protect 
him,  and  your  Bethels  inviting  him  to  hear  the  word  of  truth.  You 
must  adapt  vour  methods  to  his  peculiar  character  and  to  his  peculiar 
mode  of  life.  You  must  above  all  seek  to  follow  him  with  your  influ- 
ence when  he  has  gone  beyond  the  reach  of  your  hand  and  of  your 
voice,  and  by  means  of  books,  which  he  can  read  and  will  read,  seek  to 
preach  to  him  the  gospel  when  he  is  in  the  mood  to  be  arrested  and 
impressed  by  it. 

It  is  an  urgent  field.  I have  said  that  life  is  short  at  sea,  and  those 
who  are  to-day  within  the  range  of  our  influence,  may  soon  pass  forth 
to  that  long  voyage  from  which  there  is  no  returning.  A\  hatever  is  to 
be  done  for  them  must  be  done  quickly.  And  with  the  growing  com- 
merce of  the  world,  must  grow  also  the  zeal  and  ardor  of  Christ  s 
people  to  make  its  servants  His  messengers  and  to  gather  the  abundance 
of  the  sea  into  His  garners. 

It  is  an  inspiring  field,  exhibiting  great  results  in  the  past  and 
promising  still  greater  results  in  the  future.  The  work  which  the 
Seamen’s  Friend  Society  has  accomplished  in  the  fifty-four  years  of 
its  history  is  one  which  no  words  or  numbers  can  set  forth.  On  the  land 
and  on  the  water  it  stands  for  the  rights  of  the  sailor.  It  does  not 
say:  “ He  is  poor,  helpless,  miserable;  pity  him.”  It  says  He  is  a man, 
and  a self-denying  benefactor  of  other  men;  give  him  his 'due.”  By 
the  toil  of  his  hands  and  at  the  peril  of  his  life  he  is  weaving  the  web 
by  which  the  nations  are  bound  together;  it  is  he  who  brings  from 
every  quarter  of  the  globe  the  materials  of  your  industries,  and  w'ho 
widens  the  range  of  your  knowledge  and  your  activity  till  it  embraces 
the  world.  Without  him  commerce  would  cease,  and  enterprise  perish 
and  the  progress  of  mankind  be  everywhere  arrested.  Then  give  him 


his  due.  He  has  a right  to  keep  the  scanty  wages  that  he  earns.  See 
to  it  that  he  is  not  made  the  victim  of  organized  piracy  on  shore.  He 
has  a right  to  the  comforts  and  decencies  of  life,  when  he  is  for  a little 
while  on  land.  Provide  for  him  a place  where  he  may  be  suitably 
lodged  and  fed  and  honestly  treated.  He  has  a right  to  the  tree  of 
knowledge,  which  is  no  longer  forbidden  to  any  man.'  Put  a library  in 
his  cabin,  that  its  humanizing  and  refining  influence  may  go  with  him 
wherever  he  sails.  He  has  a right  to  the  word  of  life.  Send  abroad 
your  chaplains  to  the  great  seaports  of  the  world,  that  they  may  meet 
him  on  his  arrival  and  speak  to  him  of  the  love  of  Christ.  This  is  the 
least  that  society  owes  to  him,  and  it  is  the  noble  endeavor  of  this 
Society  to  see  that,  so  far  as  its  resources  extend,  the  sailor  receives  his 
due. 

We  are  passing  through  a period  of  great  and  often  alarming  combi- 
nations in  the  trades;  and  the  face  of  many  a capitalist  has  grown  pale 
at  the  threat  of  his  workmen,  “ Give  us  an  advance  in  our  wages  or  we 
will  shut  up  your  factory.”  Suppose,  for  a moment,  that  the  men  of  the 
sea  should  combine  against  the  church  and  say,  “ Pay  us  what  you  owe 
us.  Give  us  the  gospel,  for  want  of  which  we  are  perishing,  or  we  will 
leave  your  ships  to  rust  and  rot  at  their  wharves.”  How  long  do  you 
think  it  would  he  before  there  would  be  a chaplain  in  every  cabin  and 
a Bible  in  every  hand?  Let  us  see  that  the  sailor  has  his  rights,  not 
because  lie  demands  them,  but  because  it  is  our  privilege  and  our  duty 
to  secure  them,  for  the  love  of  humanity  and  for  the  honor  of  Christ! 


